Off Menu
by oh-mother-of-darkness
Summary: Y'all remember that bit where Bruce forgot about his kids? Because I do, and I'm still bitter about it. I'm aware that this is a cliffhanger, but it really is all I intend to write on the subject.


"No. I'm not ordering from this." Damian waved his sheet of paper in the air, briefly displaying the words "Children's Menu" and a drawing of a dog holding a plate of hamburgers in its mouth— then he slapped it back onto the table. "This is insulting."

Oh right, Jason thought, _that's_ what I forgot to do. Warn the poor waitress.

Well it was too late now. Beside him, Tim reached across the table and circled "age 12 and under" with a discarded crayon. He raised an eyebrow at Damian and tugged the menu out of his hands, pulling it back to their side of the booth. He rolled the crayons over as well and started coloring in the dog.

"What?" he asked, after a few seconds of confused silence from the rest of the table. "Stress relief. He said he wasn't going to use it."

Jason handed his menu to Damian. "Just order a grilled cheese and tell me what you want, okay? We can switch once it gets here."

"Seriously?" Dick looked up from his cup of coffee. "You want a kid's grilled cheese?"

"Hell yeah I do. It's a _two dollar_ meal. Some of us aren't billionaires."

"Right."

"And it comes with fries."

"You're ridiculous," said Damian, from behind his menu. "But fine. I want the number eight."

In all honesty, it wasn't about the money. Jason remembered coming to this diner with Bruce, when he was smaller— not twelve and under exactly, but short enough to fake it. He always got the grilled cheese (and an ice cream sundae that was far too big for him to finish), and they always ate at the booth by the kitchen, directly across from where they were sitting now.

Jason wondered if Bruce brought all of his Robins here. Probably. Tim hadn't looked at the real menu at all, like he already knew what he wanted, and Dick suggested the restaurant in the first place. When Jason turned to look at him, he was spaced out, staring at Bruce's booth while he stirred more sweetener into his coffee. Yeah, those two had been here.

But apparently not Damian. Then again, he wasn't exactly a burger joint kind of kid.

The waitress came with more coffee, took their order, and left. Tim finished coloring his dog a bright shade of blue and set the crayon back on the table, where it rolled across the wood and into Dick's lap— Tim held out a hand. "So are you going to tell me why I'm here?"

"Charity," said Damian.

Ouch. Jason grinned into his drink while Dick smacked Damian lightly in the shoulder.

"I raised you better."

"You didn't…" Damian rolled his eyes. "Fine."

"Yeah thanks, Damian," Tim said, "But I meant today specifically. So?"

Dick shrugged. "Do I have to have a reason? Hey, family. How's it going?"

"I think I cracked two ribs yesterday, so you know… normal." Jason reached across the table for more cream. "What else? I feel like there's something important that I'm—"

"Bruce doesn't remember us." Tim snapped his crayon reflectively in half. "So there's that."

"And there's a hundred untrained impostors running around the city in my uniform," Damian added. "I leave for _five minutes_ and all of a sudden…"

"Right?" Jason shot Tim a look. "Disgusting."

"I said I was sorry."

"And you," Dick pulled the spoon out of his coffee and pointed it at Jason. "Don't get to talk."

"At least you weren't dead."

"Neither am I," Damian reminded them.

"Anymore."

"Shut up. I'm not just going to stand here and let—" He cut himself off quickly as the waitress came back with their food. ("Is everything alright? Do you need any sauces? I'm going to get you boys some more coffee— you look dead on your feet.")

Jason couldn't quite manage a straight face after that one. He watched the woman walk towards the kitchen— when he turned back to the table, all three of the others were eying him in expectation.

"Don't," said Dick.

"Too easy." Jason slid Damian's grilled cheese over to his side of the table. "You were saying?"

"I'm not happy, and I'm not letting them replace me."

"And tables turn," Tim muttered. He took a bite out of his burger. "Ow! Damian!"

Jason pulled his feet underneath the bench in case there was any more under the table warfare. "I swear to God if you two start fighting again, I'm going to steal exactly half of every pair of shoes you own and dump them in the— you gotta be kidding me."

"What?"

"Nine o'clock." Jason ducked as far into his corner as he could manage, away from the table across the aisle— because Bruce was sliding into the booth.

Mass panic. Tim held up a hand to shield his face so fast that he almost knocked over his coffee. Damian went very pale; it was probably the first time he'd seen Bruce since he left. Dick's face disappeared behind a swirl of light for a few seconds, then sharpened back into focus— he propped an elbow on the table and studied Bruce from behind his fist.

"We're fine. He won't recognize us. Stay calm."

"He really doesn't—?"

"I don't think he knows any of us exist." Dick shifted sideways to block Damian from Bruce's view. "Don't look at him, okay?"

"What is he doing here?"

"His sleeve is pulled above his watch. That means he's meeting somebody."

"Who?"

"Hell if I know."

"Are we going to talk to him now?" Jason asked. "He's sitting right next to us." He wasn't totally sure why they hadn't done that in the first place— Bruce needed to know, about Damian and Tim if nothing else. Jason didn't give a damn if he never saw Bruce again (he _didn't_ ), but those two were too young to be on their own. And he would know. "We should tell him."

Damian leaned around Dick's back to take a look. "I agree."

"No."

"You know it's really funny," Jason told Dick, "that you still think you're in charge."

"I am in charge. And I already told you that we can't—"

"Yeah," Tim muttered. "Sorry about this."

"About—?" Dick didn't get to finish because Tim swept his arm across the table, propelling his cup of coffee into the aisle— it smashed against the floor, splashing all over Bruce's shoes. Tim grabbed a stack of napkins from the table and slid out of his seat.

"I am _so_ sorry." He handed over the napkins. "Here, let me help you—" Tim knelt on the floor to scrape up the shards of his mug. "Were you waiting for somebody? I can tell them to get you another table if you're in a hurry."

"Oh no, it's fine. I was waiting for my fiancé, but we always take this booth…"

Fiancé? Jason heard Damian gasp audibly at the word.

"Bruce Wayne, right? Again, I am so sorry." Tim held out a hand for Bruce to shake. "But it's nice to meet you. I'm Tim."


End file.
